East Baton Rouge Parish Prison Reform Coalition's North Star is clear: end deaths in custody. I’ve spent seven years in and out of courtrooms, bearing witness to progress toward that North Star – progress that sometimes is so small that it’s nearly invisible. But I withstand because we are moving the arc of justice towards freedom.Rev. Alexis Anderson with Marcela Hernandez, immigration activist and Executive Director of Familias Unidas En Acción.

During difficult times, there are three ingredients that sustain me as we work to achieve this vision:

My faith

My village

My guides

My Faith

I am a woman of faith. My faith allows me to believe in the potential of every human being; and it teaches me that the least of them are the apple of Jesus’s eye. The work of the Coalition is to bring accountability and transparency for those who are considered throwaways.

Before the Coalition’s founding, deaths in East Baton Rouge Parish custody were not discussed at any meaningful public level. It was only when my friend's son died after a bogus traffic stop that this journey into how my faith could bring practical tools to ending deaths in custody began.

As an ordained minister, I love telling people that Biblical principles can help us see the work through, whether you are a person of faith or not. On many occasions, the Coalition has been told what we could not accomplish, but three Biblical principles always work in our favor. First, tenacity: Galatians 6:9 tells us not to grow tired of doing good because at a proper time we will reap a harvest. Second, building capacity: Luke 5:17 tells us that if they don't allow you to enter through the front door, climb to the roof and get the job done. Finally, stay focused on the work, not the attention: Proverbs 29:18 says without vision, the people perish.

These principles sustain us, shore up our resolve, and allow us to withstand the headwinds of opposition.

My Village

My village is key to my will to withstand. The people and places that form my village never fail. When my oxygen becomes low, I find a room with community, and I breathe deeply.

My village includes the people who surround me in this work – people like Professor Corina Lain, Sister Helen Prejean, Professor Andrea Armstrong, Professor Angela Allen-Bell, sculptor Becky Gottsegen, and writer Tom Aswell. It includes those who do this work alongside me, such as Calvin Duncan, the former jailhouse lawyer turned legal advocate who was elected clerk of the same criminal court that convicted him; Marcela Hernandez, immigration activist and executive director of Familias Unidas En Acción; Dauda Sesay, founder of Louisiana Organization for Refugees and Immigrants; and Genevieve Robichaux Altizan, former traffic coordinator for the 19^th Judicial District Court in the State of Louisiana.

My village is also made up of the places I go to find respite. Whether it's at Delpit’s Chicken Shack with its knuckle-sucking-good chicken, or the lobby of the River Center Branch Library, or a visit to one of the local Council on Aging centers, I am reminded that my ancestors created spaces for me to withstand through joy and encouragement.

Rev. Alexis Anderson (center) with writer Tom Aswell (far left), sculpter Becky Gottsegen (center left), Prof. Angela Allen-Bell (back center), poet Angelo Moses (center right), and artist Quentin Anthony Anderson.

My Guides

My guides are a collection of mentors and heroes whose wisdom lights up the path this work takes me down. From being in the U.S. Air Force, to serving as a Pastor, to being somebody's grandmother, I have come to understand the greatness in everyone. That’s why my guides include an exquisite array of colorful people of all ages and from every walk of life. When it feels darkest, I look toward them to withstand the uncertainty of what’s ahead.

As a woman of faith, my first and most important hero is Jesus Christ. My mother, a domestic violence survivor who always worked at least three jobs, was also my hero. She went back to college with four children in tow, went on to get a master's degree, and then went to seminary at 70 years old. My children are my heroes. Mrs. Jones, my fourth-grade teacher, is one of my heroes. My goddaughter, who took care of her mother during her years with Alzheimer's and counted it all joy, is my hero.

As for mentors, I have studied at the feet of great authors who have written mega text in their respective fields and been schooled by my amazing granddaughter who is an up-and-coming fashion designer. I’ve learned kindness from a chef who feeds me like I’m her only customer, and attentiveness from a cardiologist who takes care of my heart. I’ve been made better by challenge from a judge who always invites me in the room despite disagreeing with me on policy. I’ve grown in bravery observing a young Colombian student who courageously attends protests to resist terror and repression invading her own classroom.

But the guides that take my breath away are the families I work with in the Coalition. They cannot be made whole, but they fight for others. They hold a pain that is unbearable, and yet they reach out and say “Rev., thank you” as if I had done anything. Their strength and their grace humbles me. They remind me what it means to withstand, even when standing feels unbearable.

It is these three ingredients – my faith,  village, and guides – that fortify me to withstand East Baton Rouge’s devastating carceral spaces, so we can continue along the long moral arc to end deaths in custody.